That Summer
by brenna idk
Summary: Summer is everything to Georgie. It's how her life is measured; in that one single season. Maybe it's because of Spot. Maybe it's just because she's away from everything she needs to escape from; memories of the past, and a future she's terrified of.
1. Chapter 1

We had been walking for what seemed to be thousands of miles, but in reality wasn't anything near that. My older brother, James, was sauntering a bit behind me and my mom was leading the way ahead of us as we walked through the New York City streets of 1900.

"Look! I think Crutchy just lapped us!" I exclaimed to James.

He ignored me, and didn't change his pace, so I started to recall the words of a song we had heard earlier that day. Our neighbor, Miss. Mary, liked to sing.

I eventually got the tune and rhythm down, and started to sing aloud. James when to hit me, but I swatted his hand away.

"Georgie, you're voice makes me want to get hit by a carriage." He said, pretending to fall into the road.

I only sang louder, and by them my mother too began to sing. James shook his head in that disgusted James way. He hated to be outnumbered. That was what bugged him most about our parents' divorce; that he was usually the only guy around.

We continued to walk through the unfamiliar streets slowly, and though I bugged my only sibling about it, I really didn't mind at all. I loved seeing the sights; this was my favorite part of the year. Everything led up to this moment; was compared to it in some way or another.

It was, in a way, coming home after you've been gone a very, very long time. It held a million promises of summer and just what might be.

We got closer and closer, and the same lovely flutter returned to my chest, and I knew we were almost there.

James awakened me from my thoughts with an elbow to a gut, "Thinking about Spot?" he prodded.

And for once, the answer really was "No".

My mother, the eavesdropper she was slowed her pace and joined in. "George, do you like Spot? From the looks of last summer I'd thought there was something between you and Jeremiah?"

James stopped. "WHAT? You and Jeremiah? What happened with you and Jeremiah?" He sputtered.

"Nothing." I told them both, though I could feel the blush creep up on my cheeks. Not for Jeremiah though, for Spot. "Me and Jeremiah are JUST friends. Just because we're friends, doesn't mean there's anything going on. Please never bring that up again."

My mother spoke with finality when she said "Done." Something about it made not even James want to press further.

Spot and Jeremiah were Sophie's boys. Sophie was my mom's best friend; attached at the hip since they were nine. They were blood sisters; they'd tell you, and the identical squiggly scars under their wrist to prove it.

Sophie told me that when I was born, I was destined for one of her boys. Fate was what she called it. Fate is sick sometimes though, because if it wasn't, I wouldn't have to hold onto forever fading memories of that amazing, strong woman.

Most of the time, as soon as something got boring, my mind would wander straight to that summer city house. With Spot and Jere. Just counting the days until summer, the only time of the year that mattered. My life was, what you could say, measured in summers. Like as if I didn't start really living until June.

Spot was the older of the boys, by a year and a half. He was dark. Well, not dark, but mysterious. His hair, a dirty blonde, was shaggy and perfect. His eyes, piercing blue that you could feel on you. He was cocky, and had a smirky mouth. That mouth, with that smirk, was amazing. The rare smile would catch you off guard, leaving you weakened. But that smirky mouth made you want to kiss it. Kiss away all the smirkiness. Or at least, control it for a while. Make it yours. That's what I wanted in Spot. To make him mine.

Jeremiah though—he was my friend. He had that way about him that he didn't care about what you thought of him. Everyone loved him like he was their own little brother. The differences in him and Spot were insane. Jere was the kind of boy who still hugged his mom, and didn't care about hat hair when he took off his newsie cap.

He only spent some of his time at the Lodgin' House, unlike Spot, who lived there 24/7, only to be forced along every summer here. He usually went back and fourth all summer anyways though. He was cold, and a ladies man. He was arrogant. But he hadn't really always been that way. I assume. I can't remember that far back.

If Jeremiah and Spot had been regular boys, I'd bet Jeremiah would have been more popular. All the girls would have loved him more. He had blonde, blonde hair and his mother's grass green eyes and a soft face that was always laughing.

But they weren't regular boys. They were newsies. And Spot was leader. I tried to imagine that if Spot had been a normal boy, he would have been different. He would have actually noticed a girl like me.

We finally came to the house. Spot and Jeremiah were on the front steps and watched as we approached. Jere trotted down the steps and shook with James and engulfed me in a bear hug.

Spot was seventeen now. He had just had a birthday. He was only slightly taller than last summer. Jeremiah on the other hand, had grown quite a lot and had almost caught up to his brother. His hair shown a blonde that only summer sun could make, and he flipped his out of his eyes often. His hair used to be curly, and would turn almost white this time of year when he was little. Oh, how he hated those curls.

Spot had once convinced him that eating the crusts of the bread made your hair curly, so Jeremiah went around eating everything but crusts, which Spot was then free to polish off.

My mother stopped and placed her hand awkwardly on Spot's shoulder, not so much of a contact person, and asked how their trip here had been. Since they've been taking it alone for the past five years, walking straight from the Lodging House here.

"No trouble at all. If der was, you know I'd have it handled." Spot answered with a smirk and an arrogant nod towards my mom who was laughing, knowing Spot hadn't changed. My mother headed inside, still lit up.

I stood back from Sophie's boys and it was then when they really noticed me. Really noticed me. Spot gave me that once over that newsies and other boys would give me at the vendors, a subtle sign they were noticing me. He had never looked at me like that before, and my heart sped up. He then turned and starting chatting with James.

Of course. Spot got all the attention a boy could want from ladies. I was just Georgie. His close friend's little annoing sister.

Jeremiah, on the other hand, did a double take. It was like he hadn't recognized me at all. I hadn't changed that much had I? My hair was longer, yes, and I had finally filled out, being more of a stick than a chub.

Jeremiah shook his head, finally realizing it was me, Georgia Brown, or Georgie to most people. Spot then came over, giving me a pat on the shoulder and touching my one cheek and rubbing it lightly with his thumb, his 'sparkle of trouble' clearly visible in his eyes. He added "I think you got some new ones."

Spot knew I was self-conscious about my freckles, but never let me forget I had them. A constant reminder I very closely resembled the annoying little sister he never wanted.

But that's how him and Jeremiah would both look at me at times. But this summer; this summer was different. They didn't see me as someone's little sister anymore, I was a real girl.

My heart was beating so loud I could hear it; letting me know the obvious; that this was going to be our summer.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time I'd had my heart snapped in half was at this house. I was eleven and believe it or not, eleven year olds can get their hearts broke too.

It was one of those really rare nights that the boys—James, Spot and Jeremiah—weren't all together. James and Jeremiah had went on an overnight with a group of boys they'd gotten to know in the summers we spent here; even though the others were yearlong residents of the area.

Spot had said he didn't feel up to going, and of course I hadn't been invited, so it was just me and him.

Well, not really together, but in the same house.

I was reading a romance novel my grandmother had gave me as an early birthday present. That was when Spot walked by. He stopped, and asked, "Georgie, what are you doing tonight?" He looked at me with a sparkle in his eye; a sparkle that meant trouble.

A sparkle I didn't know symbolized anything back then as an eleven year old. But now, I see that sparkle and I cry inside for the girl who's about to get heart broken by the famous King of New York. But of course, back then Spot was little ole Brian, an Irish name that he shared with his father, who died just after Jere was born.

But the year after this memory, he changed his name. He finally became a real resident of Brooklyn's Lodging House, so he got a nickname. And he has been Spot ever sense. And Brian, the name he was given, was forgotten by everyone, including his mother.

Maybe it was perfected icey glares that he gave, knowing he was tough, mean, and gorgeous, that gave him the confidence to command us to remember him as Spot, but it worked.

But Brian, Brian means 'high, noble, strong.' Now, I find that ironic.

But flashing back to my eleven year old self, I remembered how I purposely kept my door open, waiting for the moment that was finally happening. "Nothing." I responded.

I was trying to keep my voice calm, afraid that I'd sound to eager.

"Want to go to the Square with me?" The Square was a place where kids and people liked to hang out. It had food stands, wrestling matches, and just fun games.

This was what I had been waiting for. I was ready. I was finally old enough. I glanced over at him in the same casual way he did. "Maybe. I have been craving a hot dog."

"I'll get you one. Just hurry up and get ready." And he disappeared down the hall, his smirk and his sparkle with hi.

I ran to the dirty mirror, and changed into some clothes. Remember, I was eleven, and my sense of style was more sickening than my love for Spot.

We walked out of the house together, just as my mom and Sophie were returning from somewhere. Sophie kept smiling at me. Oh, how I missed that smile. I gave a look back that said, _Quiet Please, _even though I wanted to smile back. Now I wish I had. Sophie had that same thing that Jere had; that charm that just drew people in.

She laughed, and said "Have a great time kids." And winked at me.

Sophie was like my mother. And when she past away, it destroyed our little summer family. Jere and Spot still came; somehow my own mother seemed to drag them away from their permanent Newsie jobs.

But my mother had promised Sophie that the boys would come. Most of the time I'm sure thats the only reason they come, and at least pretend to have fun. I think they still find amusement here, at least Jere does. Spot's hard to read. Always has been.

When we arrived at the Square, Spot bought me a hot dog first. Money wasn't a problem back then. He got himself a drink, and that was all. Usually, he ate like a pig on occasions like this, but it seemed that there was a little nervousness under all that arrongant-y confidence, and that alone made me feel less nervous.

As we walked along, I left my hand down and loose—just in case. But he not once reached for it.

I asked if we could sit down so I could finish my hotdog, and we did. I ate it carefully, not wanting anything to get stuck in my teeth.

"When you're done, let's go over and see a show," he suggested, his eyes lighting up with the ever so familiar sparkle, and his chin lifting up slightly with the confidence and knowing no child Spot's age should have.

Spot wanted to take me to a show! They always gave out little gifts to cute people, so of course he'd get one. He'd probably let me pick out which one I wanted. I already knew what it was I'd pick, a little necklace chain I'd been eyeing for the past summers. Maybe someday I'd find something worth putting on it.

I could already see myself showing it off to Anna, my best friend back home. Oh, that? Spot Conlon won it for me.

I finished quickly and we took off. Spot walked fast right over to the show place, and I found it hard to keep up.

He didn't talk much, but he never did, so I starting babbling about how cool being a newsie must be, but I trailed off when I realized he wasn't even listening to me. He was watching the ticket girl.

She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, and the first thing I noticed about her was her shorts. They were boy shorts. The exact same pair the boys had made fun of me for wearing two days earlier.

So Spot had come to the Square for her. He only brought because he didn't want to be lonely, and he knew Jeremiah and James would make fun of him for it. That was it. I knew it because of the way he looked at her, and how he nearly appeared to stop breathing.

"Do you know her?" I asked.

He looked startled, like he had forgotten I was here. "Her? No not really."

"Do you want to?"

"Want to what?" Spot was confused, and he hated that, so he came across sounding annoyed. Looking back, he probably was.

"Do you want to know her?" I repeated impatiently.

He shrugged that stupid kind of boy way and smirked. "I guess."

I grabbed him by that stupid dirty sleeve, and pulled him up to her. She smiled at us, and I smiled back. It was part of a show I was putting on.

"Tickets?" She asked, and I had to refrain myself for pulling that red hair out of her head and screaming, _obviously._

"Yep," I said instead. "I like your shorts."

"Thanks." She said and smiled wider.

"Yeah, they're nice." Spot spoke up.

"I thought two days ago when I wore the exact same pair they didn't look good on girls because they were guys. And even though I cut them, they looked awkward." I turned to the girl. "Spot is so overprotective. Do you have an older brother?"

I could feel Spot fighting the urge to hit me. The girl just laughed. "No," then to Spot, "You don't think they look bad, do you?"

He blushed. Knowing what I know now, probably with anger. Towards me. But I had never seen him blush before, not in the whole time I'd known him. And I had a feeling this would be the last time. I made a big show of looking at the time, and said, "Spot, I'm going to watch some of the wrestling match before we leave. Don't forget to get me something, alright?"

There was no line behind us, so I'd bet he probably stayed and chatted her up for a while. He nodded, and I ran to the match fast, because I didn't want them to see me cry. Not Spot, or that girl, who could have been the prettiest girl in the world with her red hair, and her skinny, freckled arms and legs.

Later on, I figured out her name was Sarah. He did end up getting me the chain. He had said Sarah told him it was the best thing they had. I said that it wasn't what I would have picked, but thanks anyways.

I wore that necklace hidden under my clothes every day that summer. But I couldn't put myself into taking it home.

So I left it there, where it belonged, at the summer house with my hopes, dreams, and everything I believed that is good in life.

It's still there. I take it out sometimes. Sometimes, you have to take the bad memories with the good.

You'd never be happy if you didn't know what sadness felt like. I learned that over time. But it took just that, time.

But not even time tarnished the necklace I clung to so closely. It stood for everything important to me.

Spot. And how he'd always be Spot, the arrogant, ladies man who is really just the King of New York.

But to me, he'd always mean so much more than that; in the same way that necklace would.


	3. Chapter 3

After I finished unpacking, I went straight to the beach. Long Island was our summer getaway. The boys were already down there; lying around with there caps on and their shirts off.

As soon as Jeremiah saw me, he sprang up. "Ladies and gentlemen-men-men," he started, bowing like a circus master. "I do believe it is time… for our first belly flop of the summer." I froze. For some odd reason, I'd thought they'd forget about our forever long tradition. Lucky for me, they hadn't.

I tried to inch away, but the guys must have seen the yearning to flee in my eyes, and jumped to it. "No way, not again." I told them.

"Don't fight the tradition…" James said. Spot smirked, but stayed quiet, as if saying, "I'm too cool. But I'm still in control."

"I'm too old for this." Yes, fifteen was much too old.

I walked backwards, away from them. I knew if I made to fast of a movement, it would all be over. They'd just chase me down. Jere and James weren't who I was worried about, Spot was. I was fast. Really fast. No one could ever outrun me. Not the bulls, not any of the newsies. No one. Except Spot. Which meant he was fast; unbelievably fast.

But I guess he had to be.

It was at that moment when they grabbed me. James and Jere each took a wrist.

Pulling me closer the ocean, I tried to resist. Of course it did nothing.

"Ready?" Jeremiah sung, and he and James lifted me up by the armpits. Spot took hold of my feet, and with Jere on my right arm and James on my left, they could pick me up to easily for comfort.

"One..." Jeremiah begun.

"Two…" My brother continued.

"Three.." Spot finished. They launched me into the water, clothes and all. I could hear Jere and James laughing from underwater. I could picture Spot smirking.

We'd started this a million years ago. It was probably James' idea. I hated it. Even though I enjoyed being included, and this was probably the only real time I would be, I hated being the brunt of it.

I used to cry about it when I was eight or so; running to Sophie or my mother. I guess that proves a lot had changed. I never cried. Not since I couldn't cry to Sophie anymore.

But back then, when I did cry, tt never did me any good anyways.

Not this time though. This time I was going to be a good sport. So I smiled when I popped back up, and said, "You guys are like ten year olds."

"For life," James said smugly. His smuggy face made me want to splash him and soak him and his precocious hat he had worked four weeks to pay for.

Instead, I said, "I think I twisted my ankle, Spot."

He smirked, probably knowing what my plan was before I had come up with it, but he played along and walked to the edge of the drop off in the ocean, where it went from two inches of water to quite a few feet. "I'm sure you'll live."

"At least help me out," I smirked back.

Spot squatted, shook his head like he couldn't believe he was doing this, but he reached out his hand, which I took.

"Thanks," I said giddily. Then I gripped it tight and pulled him as hard as I could. He fell forwards, but it looked like he had meant to. He knew how to make it look like everything he did was because of him, and only him. But landing in the water, he made a splash much bigger than mine. I think I laughed harder than I ever had that moment right there. I bet so did Jeremiah and James.

Spot's head bobbed up quickly, and flicking his hair out of his sparkling blue eyes, he swam over to me in two strong strokes. I'd thought he was mad, but he was smirking in that all important threatening way. I knew I was a faster swimmer than him though, even though he was a faster runner than me.

I paddled away, sing-songing, "Can't catch me" or "Too slow!"

Every time he came close, I'd swim away, calling out, "Marco."

Jere and James called out "Polo" as they continued walking back to the house.

That made me laugh, which slowed my pace, and enabled Spot to grab my ankle.

"Let go," I gasped, still shaking with laughter.

"Hmm. I thought I was too slow." He said, one corner of his lip turning up.

There was this weird stillness between us all of a sudden. He still held on to my foot, and I was trying to stay afloat. For a second I wished Jeremiah and James were still there. I don't know why.

"Let go," I said again.

He pulled on my foot, drawing me closer. Being this close to him was making me feel dizzy and nervous. I said it again, one last time, even thought I didn't really mean it. "Spot, let go of me…"

He did. I didn't know what I had been expecting him to do.

And then he dunked me. It didn't matter.

I was already holding my breath.


End file.
